Dustin laughed.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Or rather, Dustin ate in comfort while Gregbattled his cone, trying to stay ahead of the melting ice cream. It was chaos. Delicious chaos. Every time he thought he had it under control, another drip would appear somewhere unexpected.
Across the table, Dustin was having no such difficulties. He ate his lemon ice cream with enviable ease, his tongue sweeping around the edges in slow, methodical strokes that Greg found increasingly difficult to look away from.
There was something hypnotic about it. The way Dustin's lips closed around the curve of the scoop. The flash of his tongue against the pale yellow cream. The small satisfied noise he made after a particularly good bite.
Greg licked his own cone and tried very hard to think about literally anything else.
He couldn't.
Because Dustin had said there might be a kiss at the end of this.
Nobody had ever kissed Greg.
Did Greg want to be kissed?
No. Yes. Maybe.Yes.
“You're dripping,” Dustin observed.
Greg looked down. Chocolate ice cream was running down the side of his cone, over his fingers, threatening to reach his sleeve.
“Oh no.”
“Just lick it off.”
“What?”
“Your hand.” Dustin gestured with his own cone. “Lick the ice cream off your hand before it gets everywhere.”
Greg raised his hand to his mouth and licked the chocolate from his fingers. It was clumsy and probably looked ridiculous, but it was either that or ruin his shirt.
When he looked up, Dustin was watching him with an expression Greg couldn't quite read. His lemon ice cream was temporarily forgotten, dripping unheeded down his own cone.
“What?” Greg asked.
Dustin blinked. Looked away. “Nothing.” He took a sudden interest in his ice cream again, tonguing up the drips he'd let form.
Something had shifted, though Greg couldn't identify what.
He focused on his cone, finally gaining the upper hand against the melt. The waffle cone itself was good too, sweet and crunchy. He bit into it and made another involuntary sound of pleasure.
“You're really into that,” Dustin said.
“It's the best thing I've ever eaten. Except for the milkshake. Except the milkshake was also the best thing I'd ever eaten when I had it. Can two things both be the best?”
“Just rank them in different categories.”
“Then the milkshake is the best drink and this is the best food.” Greg nodded, satisfied with this classification system.
Dustin finished his cone and leaned back in his chair, watching Greg with an unfamiliar sort of ease stretching between them.
And yet, Greg's chest felt tight.
“Can I ask you something?” he tried.
“Shoot.”
